The Verge of Everything
by LameBicycle98
Summary: Wendy Darling travels to Neverland one last time and ends up in the fearsome arms of Captain James Hook. HookWendy
1. Return to the Dreamland

A/N: This is based on the 2003 movie with Jason Isaacs as a delicious Captain James Hook and Jeremy Sumpter as Peter Pan. It is also a Hook/Wendy story since I just absolutely adore that pairing.

Special thanks to FlowerPagoda, my beautiful Beta for this project.

Please review at the end. Thank you!

The Verge of Everything

She was seventeen and on the verge of adulthood. The prospect for most girls was one of  
strange, fascinating wonder. To think that in a few short months she would be eligible for  
marriage, which her mother and father were both gently pushing her towards. They had  
introduced her to a large number of "fine young gentlemen" as her father called them;  
most of them he worked with at the bank.

Wendy Darling sighed to herself, staring out the window of her bedroom into a cloudless  
night. She supposed she would eventually have to go and pick from among those men a  
suitable man but they all seemed so very droll. They weren't anything like the stories she  
had thought of as a child, the stories she still thought of now and sometimes told her  
brothers at night, even though they were older and John seemed to no longer care for  
them.

"Oh Peter," she breathed his name which to her seemed appropriate. Was he not air  
itself? The way he floated on his happy thoughts alone was like a leaf in the wind. That is,  
if a leaf was capable of carrying a dagger in an upturned hand or a laugh that could  
change the weather itself.

But Peter wasn't coming back for her. Every year Wendy Darling had called his name out  
into the night in an attempt to bring the boy back to her to take her to the Neverland  
where she wouldn't have to grow up and get married and become old, ugly, and done for.  
And every year the wind was all the answered her. She was about to give up hope.  
Certainly, if he did not come for her soon she would be forced to grow up and that would  
be utterly miserable all around.

Time passed unhurriedly as the girl became more and more burdened with heavy  
thoughts of adulthood. She stood shakily, unshed tears forming behind her eyes as she  
placed heavy, white hands upon the windowsill. "Goodbye, Peter," she whispered as her  
eyes closed. Two perfect little drops fell down her cheeks as she began to bring the  
window glass down down down . . .

"Hey!"

What was that? Wendy's eyes opened rapidly to see a pair of baby blues staring at her. A  
mischievous smile seemed to take up the boy's entire face while a mop of careless blond  
hair fell into his face. There were spindly legs and spindly arms crisscrossing his chest.  
That self-assured smirk seemed to brighten his whole being as all the fairy dust in the  
world could not.

"Peter," Wendy Darling whispered reverently, stepping back in disbelief. "Is it really you?"  
"It's me, Wendy." The forever-boy grinned and jumped into the bedroom. He looked  
around the room curiously. Michael and John were still sleeping in their beds as they had  
when Peter had first visited them so many years ago. "You've grown," he stated  
accusingly.  
"Of course I have!" Wendy said. "I couldn't help it."

"You should have," he pouted and kicked his left foot out.

It was all so very strange. Wendy blinked and pinched herself just to make sure that she  
wasn't hallucinating this because she had wanted it so badly.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked her as his head cocked to the side.

"I'm convincing myself this isn't some wonderful dream."

Peter Pan waved his arms and floated a few feet in the air. "I'm no dream!" he cried. "I'm  
not a dream! I'm a real boy. A real, wonderful boy." He grinned. Wendy only laughed and  
wrapped her arms around his flying form.

"Oh Peter! I've waited for you to come back for me. I've missed you so much."

Peter blushed. "I've missed you too, Wendy. I wasn't gone for long."

"It was years!"

Peter took a sitting position in the air and placed his hand under his chin in a mocking  
way. "Time is different in the Neverland, I think."

Wendy shook her head and clapped wildly and she jumped, her hair flaying about her face  
like a child's. "Oh, it doesn't matter. You're here now. Tell me of all your adventures  
you've had!"

Peter enjoyed being the storyteller with Wendy as his captive audience. He explained to  
her of his adventures with Tigerlily and the rest of the Indians. They often went on hunting  
parties to find the most dangerous animals. He told her of the fairies as they danced with  
brilliant luminance during the equinox. He spoke of the lost boys and how they built an  
even larger house, complete with a swimming pool. He described, with rapid hand  
gestures, his most recent battle with the dreaded pirate Captain James Hook.

"Hook!" exclaimed Wendy. "But he's dead. That crocodile ate him!"

"Ah, but you see the crocodile made a mistake by swallowing him whole. Hook sliced open  
the beast from the inside." He grabbed his dagger and sliced the air violently to  
demonstrate.  
Wendy gulped. She recalled the last time she had seen Captain James Hook, before the  
crocodile ate him, that is. He had shone brilliantly in red and gold, though not as brightly as  
that terrible hook-hand of his did when it gleamed in the sunlight. And those eyes, what  
terrible warring blue eyes that, when focused on her as a child, seemed to rip past every  
defense. As a child she hadn't been afraid of him, not really. She was afraid of the things  
he did, certainly. What girl would not fear death as it fell before her? Or walking, barefoot  
and blindfolded, off a plank while his rich voice wished her a sardonic goodbye?

As an almost-adult she had had more than one nightmare about Captain Hook and his  
brilliant, dreadful eyes.

"Oh my. It all sounds so wonderful and frightening. Oh Peter, I would give anything to be  
able to go back one more time. Just to have one more adventure."

"You can," said the boy with serious innocence.

"Oh, don't be silly, Peter. I can't fly anymore."

Peter laughed at this, throwing his whole body into it until he was floating on his back in  
the room. "Of course you can! You still have happy thoughts, don't you?" He sobered for a  
moment, staring at the girl with a frightful look that little boys have when they are first told  
of the boogey-man. "You haven't lost that? Have you? All your stories?"

"No, Peter," she shook her head and smiled, if only a little sadly. "They can't take that  
away from me. It's yours, really. And nobody can take anything from Peter Pan!" At that  
the boy laughed so loud and so brightly that Wendy was sure they could hear it back in the  
Neverland.

In any case, it was loud enough to wake up both John and Michael.

"What's this, then?" asked John, eyes narrowed at being disturbed from his slumber.

"Is that you, Peter?" asked Michael in a small, disbelieving voice. He clutched his Teddy-  
Bear, the same one he had from those adventures years ago, tightly to his chest.

Wendy quickly answered in a rush of excitement. "Of course it is! It really is Peter Pan!"

"Oh! Oh, John! It's Peter Pan!" Michael was shaking, he was so delirious with wonder and  
thrill. "Do you remember me, Peter?"

"Course I do!" said the forever-boy with an childish, indulgent look. "You're Michael  
Darling and you," he said, turning to John, "Are John Darling who wore a top hat while  
fighting pirates!"

Michael looked positively delighted while John merely looked slightly chagrined by the  
memory.  
"Peter is going to take us to Neverland again!" cried Wendy with all hope shining in her  
eyes. Peter nodded with a smirk.

Michael threw himself out of bed and was beside himself with joy at the thought of  
returning back to the Neverland. John looked away.

"Come on then, let's fly before the sun comes up!" said Peter. He called upon Tinkerbell,  
his trusty if not overly mischievous fairy, who graciously sprinkled her glittering dust upon  
Michael and Wendy's head. If Wendy noticed that the fairy seemed to throw the dust at her  
with more force than was absolutely necessary she kept that knowledge to herself.

"Now then, think happy thoughts!"

Michael and Wendy thought of their past adventures in the Neverland and it lifted them up  
into the air. Michael let out a whoop of delight while Wendy giggled and covered her mouth  
with her hands, though her eyes laughed brilliantly all the same.

"Come on, John! We're going back to Neverland!" said Michael to his brother who, for  
some reason the little boy could not fathom, had still not risen from bed.

"I have no desire to go," said John quietly, but with an edge to his voice.

"What? Why not?" asked Michael.

"You must come with us, John." Wendy looked forlornly at her brother and slowly started  
to descend back to the ground. "It won't be the same without you."

John raised himself to an upright sitting position and held his nose up in the air stiffly,  
much as Mr. Darling had done before the children's first trip with Peter. "I've no time for  
silly games anymore. I'm going to grow up and get a job and a wife and be responsible.  
There's nothing in there that will benefit by my leaving to do battle with pirates and the  
lot."

"But John," said Michael who by now was standing on the ground again.

"No, Michael. It's time to put away childish things. You would do well to do the same," he  
looked pointedly at Wendy when he said this. The girl, however, in a rush of adrenaline  
and rage against the prospect of adulthood, zoomed into the air and grasped the hand of  
Peter Pan.

"I am going with Peter, John. You won't know what you're missing."

"That's perfectly all right with me," said John before he tossed the covers over himself and  
played sleep.  
No amount of coaxing on Michael's part (though, to the boys credit he truly tried) would  
rouse John. After a while Peter grabbed onto Michael and with a soft murmur the two of  
them were flying out the window and towards the wonderful place of dreams and  
escapades. Wendy took a deep breath and looked down upon the faux sleeping figure of  
her brother.

"I won't grow up. Not yet. I have to be allowed this one more time," she said quietly. With  
a sad look upon her brother's form she too took to the air and met up with the shining boy  
from her stories.

The three rode the air, each with arms outstretched to welcome the glorious beginning of  
another adventure. The wind whipped past them, scratching against their cheeks but none  
cared for their minds were only on the golden island of dreams which would soon lend to  
them every fantasy and brilliant, beautiful ambition that their child-hearts could wish for.

---------------------------

As the children approached the Neverland a lone figure stood tall and menacingly atop the  
deck of the infamous Jolly Roger. He watched the parting of the darkness and the melting  
of the ice with a sardonic expression plastered across his face.

Ho hum. The little menace returneth.

Captain James Hook, regal and proud, shouted for all hands on deck. While his crew  
scurried like rats under his orders he turned his gaze up to the sky in a vain hope of  
catching a glimpse of the boy. Perhaps some dark deity would for once smile upon him and  
guide his pistol into hitting the brat out of the air.

What a delicious little splash his body would make as it hit the water.

But as his eyes searched the heavens no sign of Pan was forthcoming. With a muttered  
curse the Captain turned on heel and strode to his rooms with plans formulating on how he  
would rid the Neverland of that flying boy once and for all.


	2. A Necessary Evil

a/n: Thanks so much for those who reviewed.

The Verge of Everything

Chapter 2

Neverland was exactly as she recalled it.

Back in her London home, before the forever-boy had rescued her once again, she had dark, terrible, sneaky thoughts that perhaps everything she had experienced as a thirteen year-old had just been some fantastic dream. Now, flying through the air with her thoughts happier and more free than she could ever remember them being, she was truly exhilarated and believed in magic.

And fairies. And mermaids. And Indian tribes wild and free upon the plains. And swashbuckling pirates. And houses under the ground.

"Do you remember?" asked Peter tentatively. It was an odd sounding question coming from the lips of the boy.

Wendy smiled, anguished and jubilant all at once. "I remember, Peter. I could never forget."

"It's just as it was!" cried Michael. He rushed past his once mother and father figures and into the house under the ground. There were cries of exclamation and joy from the inside. Apparently the lost boys hadn't forgotten their once playmate and fellow adventurer either.

"Out you lot!" shouted Pan. "Your mother's come back." He turned to Wendy with an almost shy glance. "That is . . . You still want to be our mother, don't you?"

Wendy did not know why but the question seemed odd to her. She recalled on her first trip to Neverland she had quickly and easily assumed the position as the matron of the somewhat strange household.

But hadn't that been what she was trying to get away from? She had come back so that she wouldn't have to grow up and get married and . . . and be a mother.

But taking one look at Peter's hopeful face, Wendy giggled and twirled around, her dress floating in a circle. "Of course. I'll be your mother again."

The boys all came out, just as dirty and half-dressed and as young as they had always been. They clamored around Wendy and hugged her waist and her knees. The twins in particular attached themselves to her legs and refused to move.

"I've missed you all as well," Wendy whispered and meant it more than she had meant anything else.

----------------------

It was later that night that the boys were in their beds but not a single one of them was sleeping. They sat alert, wide eyed, upon the storyteller, their very own mother, who was rocking them to sleep with one of her fantastical tales.

"And the princess was whisked away by the evil demon who planned to make her his own bride," she continued, her voice low for effect. The boys shook themselves, already afraid of this terrible demon form that was being thrust upon their imaginations. Nibs was hiding under the blanket as Slightly paled to a ghostly sheen.

"The demon was not cruel to the princess, for in his own way he loved her. But he kept her locked up in his highest tower and all day and night she wept to be let free. And every night the demon begged her at his door, "love me, love me, please." And each night she refused him."

Slightly let out a whimper. "Surely it'll kill her!" he choked out.

"The demon was so distraught and unhappy that when the prince, riding on his shining steed and bearing his finest sword came to save the princess it barely put up a fight. Instead it opened the door to the princesses cell and allowed her to go. He begged her then, one last time, to say even a kind word to him so that he might remember it when he was dead."

"Poor thing," said Nibs, who chewed lightly on the nail on his thumb.

"The princess at once felt great pity for the beast and so she gave him a single kiss."

There was a brief pause of silence.

"Ewww!" said the boys in almost perfect unison. Wendy laughed.

"Oh, do behave, boys. The kiss turned him into a handsome prince."

"What's she going to do with two princes?" asked Pan, scratching his head with the blunt part of his dagger.

"I haven't thought that far ahead, I'm afraid. I suppose she'll have to choose," said Wendy as she too sat into her bed.

"You'll let us know when she chooses, won't you?" asked Michael, his freckled face beaming with a sleepy wonder.

"Of course. The very moment."

--------------------------------------------

Captain James Hook was standing in all his regal glory on the outside of the fairy fountain. He was watching the little glittering baubles as they flitted in and out of the trees. They were truly a beautiful sight. They were like the stars; endless luminance. It was a tribute, Hook knew, to Peter Pan. In celebration for his return to Neverland. They were praising the forever boy-child.

Hook considered, for only the briefest moment, telling them that he denied their existence, like an endless mantra, until they all fell from the sky and vanished forever.

The Captain was certain that Pan would show up. The boy was constantly in a state of wonder, which Hook supposed was due to his magical gift of youth. It didn't matter how many times the boy witnessed the fairies and their dances, or ran wild singing the songs of the Indians or fought against the pirates, the boy never grew tired of it.

A few moments later and the moment the Captain was waiting for arrived. Pan was soaring gently through the trees in his careless manner. His eyes were shining and his arms were raised with that utter abandon that made Hooks heart shrivel in his chest. It was with revolting ease that the Captain raised his pistol and took aim at the boy.

A thought that this was in bad form flittered across his mind. He pushed the thought aside. Any sort of decency in the battles of gentlemen had gone out the window when the boy threw his still quivering hand to that deranged crocodile.

His good fingers squeezed along the trigger like a lovers' caress. His aim was perfect. He was an excellent marksman. He had waited for this moment with a fervor similar to love; if love was twisted and consuming and painful.

And thus, thought Hook, perished Peter Pan.

A burst of laughter cut through the air like an arrow, causing Captain Hook to lower his finger from the trigger. It was such a bright, pure sound, like newly fallen snow. It was a childs laughter, yes, and since the day he had set anchor on this stupid island he had been inundated with the laughter of children as it grated mercilessly on his ears. This, however, was different from the laughter of surly boys. It was a feminine lilt, with a promise of something undefined, touching on a secret, guilty carnal desire.

Following this burst of laughter came the being whose throat and lips gave shape to the sound. Running barefoot in a green dress that barely reached her ankles was Wendy Darling, older and yet so very, very young still. Her hair trailed behind her like a veil of soft coils and her eyes were wide, bright, and blazing with an innocent passion.

"You're cheating, Peter!" she cried to her floating companion. "I've no fairy dust. Flying isn't allowed."

"Keep up, keep up!" taunted the boy. With a laugh that seemed to ripple through his entire body he was off again, this time flying high above in the trees. It was with a good-natured growl of frustration that the girl followed.

The moment of the children entering his vision was quick, like the bright flash of the sun before one is forced to look away. It was like being paralyzed - all breathing ceased. The pistol lay limply in his hand, forgotten for the moment. Just as, for the first time in as long as he could remember, that damned boy was forgotten as well.

"It's her," he whispered to himself.

When the sounds of that whisper reached his ears his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched while a merciless smirk crept upon his lips.

-.-.-.-.-.-.--..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-...-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Wendy was running like a forest sprite. It seemed like nothing could possibly keep her down. She thought she could even fly, bereft of fairy dust and all. It was a moment of total and complete freedom that Wendy had not realized she was missing. Her arms were outstretched as she twirled delightedly in the cool night air.

She was such a beautiful little sight with the lights of the fairies reflecting off her sparkling eyes. This is exactly what she had wanted, needed, craved. In all her naivety she pictured herself in this land forever. Perhaps she would become like Pan - an eternal being. She considered she might even be happy mothering children that were not really her own. She could tell them stories every night. Indeed, what better place was there than Neverland for inspiration?

The girl was so lost in these happy, hopeful thoughts that she did not hear the sounds of a man creeping up behind her. It wasn't until a large hand covered her mouth and she felt cold steel being pressed to her stomach through the dress that her mind belatedly realized the danger.

"You will be quiet, won't you Miss Darling?" purred the man who held her tightly in his arms. His lips brushed delicately over her ear, causing a shudder to run down her spine. "We wouldn't want to upset Pan, now would we?"

The girls heart grew cold with the recognition of that voice. She had heard it often in her dreams. In those unconscious hours she had also felt that steel hook - just as she felt it now against her stomach.

A tear trailed down her cheek when she realized she was at the complete mercy of Captain James Hook.


	3. Taken Aboard

a/n: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep them coming.

The Verge Of Everything

Chapter 3

"You won't get away with this," she hissed.

Wendy Darling was standing before a resplendent Captain Hook who was leaning back in a leather chair with his boot-clad feet resting on his immaculate desk. The girl slightly wavered under his intense and sickeningly triumphant gaze but managed to keep her head up and her chin lifted high. Of course it was a little absurd as she had her hands bound with course rope in front of her. She was also dripping wet her from when she had attempted to escape and ended up in the sea.

To her credit Wendy had kept somewhat calm from the walk from the fairy forest to the _Jolly Roger_. Of course, the only thing that had really kept her from screaming was the mighty hand over her mouth and the sharp hook pressed into her belly. Her eyes had darted about madly, hoping for some sign that Peter would notice she was missing and come rescue her like the hero he was.

It wasn't until she saw the looming ship that she realized that Peter wasn't coming and she had better do something . . . anything. Captain Hook was helping her into the dinghy with a mockery of gentleness when she had ripped her arm from his grasp and made a wild run for it. She had been shocked and more than a little relieved when the Captain himself did not even attempt to run after her. However, Wendy soon found out why. Pirates, who seemed to have stepped out for the thinness of air itself, were on her in seconds. They dragged her back to Hook, kicking and screaming, while he wore an irritatingly smug expression.

"Bind her," he said. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "And gag her, too."

The brutish pirates were quick to follow orders. Wendy wasn't sure what exactly had been strapped across her mouth but it tasted terrible. She wailed into the gag and tried to stop the inevitable bondage of her hands but two grown men were much stronger than one girl. Snort was unceremoniously dropped into the small boat at Hooks feet, who then barked orders for the men to bring them to the main ship.

One of the Pirates, whom she now recognized as the thin and wily Cookson, hoisted her onto his shoulders and climbed aboard. She had tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he only held her tighter.

"Easy now, girlie. Don't want you to end up as mermaid lunch, do ye?" he said while snorting laughter. Wendy wasn't sure which death she was preferring right now. Captain Hook would probably make her walk the plank again as he had when she was just a stapling young girl. The mermaids would look really shiny and pretty before they forced her lungs to fill with water.

Wendy was rather sure that, had she the choice, neither death was looking better over the other except that she didn't want to give Hook the satisfaction of being the cause.

She flinched under the lewd gazes and catcalls of the pirates once they were onboard. Wendy miserably tried to cover her almost bare shoulders with her hands but found it almost impossible with her hands tied as they were.

"Miss Wendy?" called a familiar and much welcomed voice among the bawdy laughter. "Is that you?" It was Smee, the first mate of the _Jolly Roger_. Wendy always had a soft spot in her heart for him. He wasn't really like a pirate. More like a wayward grandfather type.

"It is, Mr. Smee," said Captain Hook. "Bring her to my cabin and be quick about it."

Smee had carefully led the trembling girl to the captains cabin. It was exactly as she recalled it. There was a tactful ornateness everywhere, from the gold and black pianoforte to the hand woven quilts that covered the walls. Candles on tall black metal-wrought spires were everywhere and their flickering lights created shadows that Wendy found to be absolutely frightful. She whimpered movingly to Smee and gestured to the gag, but he only shook his head sadly at her.

"I'd like to, Miss, really. But orders is orders and the Captain didn't say anything about that."

"Quite right, Mr. Smee," said Captain Hook as he slowly made his way into his cabin. "I wanted the pleasure of freeing Miss Darlings lovely voice myself." Delicately he placed his metal hook under the gag near Wendy's right cheek. Her eyes went very wide and her breathing stopped as she was sure he would cut her. But he was gentle, delicate, and all that ripped was the foul tasting cloth. It fluttered to the floor uselessly and was forgotten.

"Leave us," he said to Smee. The white-haired man gave Wendy a sympathized look but was quickly out the door, shutting it behind him.

That is where we now regain our story.

Captain James Hook leaned heavily into his chair as he watched the small girl trembling, either from cold or fear he wasn't sure, before him now. It was an intoxicating delight for him to be able to look at her so openly after all these years. Years that she must have thought him dead.

"You won't get away with this."

"I assure you, Miss Darling, that I already have." Hook pyramided his fingers and hook under his chin and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Peter will come for me," she said while lifting her chin up higher.

Hook chuckled darkly and it made the girls face fall. "Of that I have no doubt. And when he does," he casually caressed his hook before giving the girl his full gaze. "I will be ready for him."

"You're using me for bait," Wendy muttered dully. She closed her eyes when she felt them stinging with inevitable tears. She didn't want to cry or appear weak in front of him, but the idea of poor Peter getting hurt or, worse, dying because of her was something she couldn't bear.

So intense was the girls grief that she didn't notice that Hook had stood up. She did notice when he gently wrapped a warm, thick blanket around her shoulders. Wendy jumped a little in fright, but calmed when she saw he didn't seem to intend on hurting her.

"No, not bait, my beauty," he said softly as casually wrapped a strand of her damp hair around a finger.

She pulled away from him. "You're going to kill me?" she whispered in blanch horror and glistering naivete. "Make me walk the plank again?"

"No, my dear girl," he said as he slowly advanced on her. Wendy backed up just as slowly, until they were meeting one another step for step.

"Then you'll release me?" she asked, all hope.

"Certainly not." He had backed her into the wall by now and still he advanced. He placed that terrible steel hook of his near her head while his good hand reached up and delicately caressed her face. She shivered as he touched her. It was because she could feel her stomach clench in a not entirely miserable way. She could smell him, a mix of the sea, spices, and sweat, so strongly that she almost forgot where he ended and she herself began. The moment seemed to breathe on forever and it was filled to the brim with James Hook.

"I plan on keeping you with me, Wendy Darling, for a very, very long time."


	4. Fears of First Touch

a/n: Thanks so much for the reviews! Keep them coming, for I absolutely adore them. I hope everyone enjoys Hook in this chapter because I really enjoyed writing him.

The Verge of Everything

Chapter 4

Wendy was nonplused by the almost whirlwind of events and emotions she had felt recently. It seemed like such a short time ago she was sitting back in her room with Michael and John and, while she hadn't exactly been happy, at the very least she wasn't at the whim of dread pirates.

Now, locked in a small room with only the barest of bare necessities such as a bed, two scrawny chairs and a table with what looked like a broken leg, the poor girl had never felt more miserable, or more alone. Having so recently been free and wild this sudden, unwelcome captivity made her appreciate and long for the ability to be able to run barefoot like a child once again.

She thought of ways to possibly escape. The window looked promising but she settled it as a last resort. She wasn't really looking forward to the drop, the cold water, or the slippery hands of the mermaids as they pulled her under. Yes, definitely as a last resort.

And she stubbornly refused to acknowledge the feel of his lips against her own.

After he had backed her up against the wall and spoke so quietly of her fate, _a very, very long time_, she couldn't help the large, burning tears that welled up so fully in her eyes then. No matter what furious mental urges chastised her for showing that weakness she couldn't prevent their falling down, down, down her pale cheek.

"What's this?" said James Hook easily, delicately, as he brought his face down to hers so that he could look straight into her big eyes. "Is Red Handed Jill crying?" he mocked softly.

Wendy was immediately acrimonious, though if it was because of her tears or because he brought up a silly childhood memory which caused red shame to course through her veins was something she wasn't about to sort through. "I'm not a silly pirate. I'm a proper young girl," she whispered with conviction.

"Is that what you think I am?" he purred against her. "Just a silly pirate?" His body was ever so slowly closing in on hers, forcing her to press her small frame against the wall in some vain hope of disappearing. She couldn't stop his chest which pressed itself almost threateningly against her own, or see beyond the thick curls of his long hair as it dropped down around her, effectively obscuring her vision of everything but him.

How could she have concentrated on anything else?

"Please," she murmured, bringing her bound hands up against the cool fabric of his shirt. "Keep your distance, sir."

He chuckled quietly and she could feel his heart beating wildly in contrast of his calm, collected face. "You are not in any position to be giving me orders on my ship, my beauty," he said with a brilliant sibilance.

She whimpered as words, which had always been so helpful to her in the past, flew right out of her head. It seemed like the moment was lasting forever. She could smell his breath, hot against her cheek, and the sea-spicy quality that sent confusing shivers through her body. She knew that sometimes her father would lean over her mother this way and press chaste kisses, usually to her forehead, before breaking apart almost guiltily. Her fathers' eyes, however, would always shine with a sort of longing, as if he was wishing he could do away with years and years of social sanctions and wrap his arms around her in some mad, hungry ferocity.

"What are you frightened of, Wendy?" asked Captain Hook, his hand gently lifting her chin so that her face angled upwards towards his own. He brushed a wayward tear away from her cheek with his thumb.

"You," she whispered so quietly Hook thought he might have just imagined it if not for her trembling lips parting around the syllable.

"Me." He sounded amused. "You have nothing to fear from me, darling Wendy."

"Then, please, Captain, keep your distance." It was a plea.

Though had she known the consequences she would have never implored him.

It was a subtle change, so very subtle that she did not notice it at all. Her eyes were lowered, pointedly staring anywhere that wasn't his face and thus she did not see the flash of anger that passed like lightening across his eyes. His lips curled in a sneer. That good hand of his clutched at her long hair and yanked it roughly. Wendy cried out from shock more than from pain. Her breath came out in mewling pants as she saw his eyes, blue with tinges of that frightening red, that poisonous red, were focused so intensely upon her.

"Perhaps I am not making myself clear," he said quietly, his voice taking on a dangerous purr. "You are mine until I see fit to do away with you, Miss Darling." He smiled in a peculiar way, then, as if the thought was just now occurring to him and that he very much liked the sound of it. He pulled on her hair as she hissed in breath but raised her face towards him.

"And before that time, my beauty, I have many plans for you."

And then his lips were upon hers. She hadn't ever been kissed before by a man who wasn't her father and she found the sensation strange. Unlike the chaste kisses of her parents, Hook plundered her mouth, the very essence of the pirate-king he was. His hand eventually loosened its hold on her hair and moved to caress her cheek again, gently, a far cry from his previous roughness.

His lips were warm and soft against her, though she was too numb to respond. She stood there in aghast horror and didn't respond but for when she choked on a sob. Mrs. Darling had only once sat down and explained to the young girl what happens, vaguely, when a man and a woman come together. Mrs. Darling had said that it only happened between a married couple and that there was pain right beforehand but that kisses tended to make it better. And thus poor Wendy Darling stood stock still, fully expecting an onslaught of pain at any moment. Bitterly, ambiguously, she wondered if it would be more painful than being run through with his legendary hook.

And almost at once James Hook stopped his onslaught of her mouth. He took one step back from her and saw before him not the woman his mind had convinced him was before him, but a little, shivering girl with bound hands, tears streaming from her eyes that were pointedly not looking at him, and lips that were slightly puffy and quivering. He silently cursed himself for his lack of propriety.

"Forgive me, Miss Darling. I fear I let my thoughts get the better of me."

Wendy looked at him now, a perfect image of confusion and fear. Hook regarded her silently, one eyebrow delicately arched at her shaking form. He then made a move towards her and she shook her head violently, her words forming the word 'no' but no sound coming out.

"Be still, girl. I'm only doing to undo your hands," he sighed impatiently. "Unless you would like to remain this way?"

"No," she said quietly. He used his hook and carefully cut the ropes. They fell to the floor. Hook was pleased to see that the coarse material had not left any permanent marks on her, but for the slight red irritation.

Captain Hook was observing her wrists closely, much too closely and too long for Wendy's comfort, when thankfully a hurried knock came at the door. Wendy silently blessed, thanked, and prayed for the everlasting happiness of whomever it was that provided a timely and much needed distraction.

"What is it?" Hook snapped impatiently, dropping Wendy's hands. Immediately Smee came into the room, looking sheepish.

"Forgive me, Captain, but it's starting to get blustery outside. The men are wonderin' if we should be bringing down the sails." Smee nervously looked between his Captain and the girl. The closeness of their persons was not lost on him.

"Of course. I shall be there immediately," said the Captain with only a touch of irritation.

"Very good, sir." Smee turned and was about to leave when Hook stopped him and ordered him to bring Wendy to a room where 'she wasn't likely to cause much mischief' and to make sure that she would be bolted in.

And that's where Wendy was now, sitting on the bed in her lonely room, listening to the sounds of the storm from her window. She mentally cursed herself from ever wishing herself back to Neverland, and cursed Peter for not protecting her, and cursed herself for not paying closer attention.

But most of all she cursed James Hook because he was a tyrannical monster who had taken her last chance at childhood and replaced it with the looming image of himself.

-.-.—.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And where, might one ask, is Peter Pan, boy wonder in all this?

Peter realized something was wrong when Wendy had not shown up to watch the fairies do their nightly dance. He recalled that she had enjoyed it so much the last time she was in the Neverland and could not fathom why she would miss it this time around.

He took to the air, the thought of how happy she would be to see him keeping him afloat. He looked all around to the spots he thought she would be and yet, there was no sign of Wendy Darling anywhere.

Confused, and almost worried, he made his way back to the house under the earth to see if she had returned without telling him.

His feet his the floor with a reverberating thud when the lost boys informed him that she had not returned.


	5. Forbidden Flowers

a/n: So. This ended up being ridiculously longer than I thought it would be when I set out towards writing it. I absolutely love it and it contains my favorite scene that I have written thus far. See if you can find it :P

Also I blatantly stole some lines from Susan Kay's _Phantom_ for Wendy's story. I also blatantly stole the story itself. I couldn't help it - it worked so well. Anyhow, if you are a fan of the Phantom of the Opera I highly recommend her work -it's basically canon anyway.

As always, I adore your reviews. Thank you so much for them.

The Verge of Everything

Chapter 5

Wendy Darling opened her eyes and stretched wide, allowing a small yawn to escape past her lips. She snuggled her face back into the pillow, thoroughly enjoying the feel of the cotton as it brushed against her. Wendy always tried to slip in a few extra moments of sleep into her mornings, like she was trying to catch her elusive dreams before they flew away - perhaps to Neverland.

She felt silvery-snake of thought whispering something in her ear. She ignored it in her half-awake bliss, choosing instead to snuggle deeper in her cocoon of sheets and pillows. Yet the voice was insistent, obnoxious, and was getting louder by the second.

_Peter. Fairies in the moonlight. Neverland. The Lost boys. Pirates. . . . Hook._

Wendy gasped and sat up with alacrity. Her gaze wavered cautiously around the room. She saw she was still in that empty room she had been taken to the night before. The memories of the previous day came back to her in a flash and she could not help the light flush that went over her cheeks or the spray of tears that filled her eyes.

"Rude awakening, Miss Darling?"

Wendy gasped and looked to the foot of her bed where, in resplendent red crushed velvet, was Captain James Hook, leaning casually against the wall and regarding her intensely.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, looking positively scandalized.

The Captain hummed low in the back of his throat. "I believe this is my ship and, as such, I am allowed to go where I please."

"But," she began before swallowing the rest of her sentence as her fear, a trembling snake, traveled across her spine. Captain Hook merely looked amused.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her.

"A little," she said, ignoring the fact that her stomach was quietly complaining.

"Smee!" Hook barked. As if he had been waiting just outside the door, the diminutive man came scampering in with a covered tray. He set it on the table and flashed Wendy a smile, surprisingly dazzling for a man who probably had a poor conception of dental hygiene. Wendy hesitantly smiled back.

"Will that be all, Captain?" asked Smee.

"See about finding some new clothes for Miss Darling. That will be all," drawled Hook.

Wendy cautiously looked at the covered tray and made her way out of the bed. She was about halfway to the table before she stopped, turned around and walked back. She started folding and tucking the sheets into her bed and fluffing the pillows.

"What are you doing?" asked a visibly amused Hook.

"Making my bed," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Mother always made me make my bed before I had breakfast," she finished quietly, trying not to think of how much she missed her mother right now, even if it was she who had once again run away. Again she felt the back of her eyes burning and she shut them quickly and tightly. Blithely and bitterly she wondered if, before this entire mess was over, there would ever be an end of tears.

Finished with the bed she took her seat with Hook at the small table. The Captain put his silver hook under the clasp and lifted the cover, displaying a bowl of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, toast and a glass of orange juice.

"Bon Appetite," he purred.

Wendy suddenly felt terribly self conscious being forced to eat in front of the man, but the grumbling in her stomach forced her to metaphorically grin and bear it (for no smile creased her lips now) as she hurriedly took a piece of the egg and chewed it slowly. She sat with her back straight and tense, poised to bolt at the first sign of danger - a deer in the crosshair of the arrow.

"Are you not going to eat?" she asked him, fork midair with a piece of melon stabbed on the end.

"I've already eaten."

"Oh," she breathed and kept her eyes lowered. She felt his gaze upon her, like a snake staring and swinging back and forth, hypnotizing its prey, making it feel absolutely safe before striking.

Perhaps, thought Wendy, I should attempt striking first?

The girl was not wholly unfamiliar of her charms. She knew she was a pretty girl - many young men had approached her father enquiring after her. She also knew she was generally found to be beguiling. Perhaps she could charm the snake.

Wendy slowly raised her head to the Captain and opened her eyes wide. She hoped that her face was significantly pale, though considering the state of affairs she was in she figured it was guaranteed. She swallowed delicately to try to dislodge the lump in her throat. No good, some lumps are there to stay.

"Captain," she began slowly, wavering slightly when her eyes trained themselves upon his sparkling blues. "When will you let me go?"

Hook was staring intently at her but gave no inclination as to his thoughts. He seemed to either be seeing past her, or much too deeply into her for comfort. Wendy felt herself failing under that gaze but she swallowed and stood up straighter, unwilling to let him win this paltry game.

"You would agree that it is something you cannot help, would you not?" he began, then raised his good hand when she would make a move to argue the point. "Perhaps you would not agree, but the crux of the matter is that no, you cannot help it. You are at my gentle mercy, Miss Darling."

When he said the words _gentle mercy_ he, perhaps unconsciously, stroked the hook with his hand. If it was possible, her eyes widened considerably more.

"And gentle it will continue to be so long as you behave like a proper girl should. I daresay I do not need to impress upon you the foolishness of escaping. My men would drag you back here and I would not be forgiving of the energy and time I would have had to waste dragging you back. No, Miss Darling, it would be better all around if you simply accepted your lot and try to make the best of it."

Wendy felt a furious rush that made her consider, for a moment, throwing a tantrum like she used to as a very, very small child and tell him that she would not, under any circumstances, meekly follow his orders.

"Are you using me to get to Peter?" asked Wendy softly, cursing her eyes for welling up at the mention of the boy from her own lips.

Hook spoke so quietly she wasn't even sure she heard it. "Not everything has to do with that damn boy."

She asked him, in a rare show of courage, to explain what he meant by that. However, Hook adamantly refused and instead changed the subject, requesting (more like commanding, thought Wendy) to tell him about her life after having left Neverland so many years ago.

Wendy did not mind talking about herself. In fact she was rather fond of speaking at length about her parents. Her mother was a sweet, tender and sympathetic ear, while her father was an ironic enforcer of rules who ended up being more comical than frightening (though to be fair the man tried). She told Hook about her brothers, and about John who she was disappointed in because he had not joined them again. She quietly stated that perhaps it had been better off if she had stayed home as well, giving his boots a pointed glare.

"Tell me, why did you decide to return to the Neverland?" he asked, casually looking out the small window of the room. He was frowning, as if he already knew the answer and did not agree to it.

"My mother and father want me to marry," she started before she quieted under Hooks suddenly interested look.

"And you have no desire for marriage?" he asked.

"I suppose I do," she said slowly, measuring each word like granules of salt. "Eventually, that is. I do not want to rush into it. My father introduces me to these nice boys from the bank where he works, though I do not know them." She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip. "I do not love them."

"You would only marry for love?" Hook purred, a queer smile breaking across his face.

"Do not mock me, sir," said the girl, instantly defensive against his mirth.

"I am not mocking you, Miss Darling. I merely find it odd. Most do not marry for love. Rather they do because, like you, they are pressured by their parents or because it would do them well to be so, financially speaking, of course. Even the Indians here hardly marry for love. Most of it is arranged between families."

"You know of Indian politics?" she asked with honest surprise.

Captain Hook sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking discreetly uncomfortable. "There is little else to do here besides studying the inhabitants, Miss Darling."

"And attempting to hurt Peter," she whispered, once more gazing at her hands which were balled up tightly in her lap.

"Aye," he said softly. "That too."

They were silent for long moments. Wendy was inwardly trembling with anger at something invisible, something un-placeable, though she knew somewhere, somehow, the man in front of her was the cause of it.

He always seemed to be the cause of her misery.

Eventually he took his leave of her, politely bidding her goodbye and taking the tray with her half-eaten food with him as he left. When he closed the door behind him Wendy heard the faint sound of the lock clicking into place.

Wendy was forced to be content with herself for the next several hours. She had decided early on to spend most of the time thinking up a clever escape plan but even with several thorough searches through the room she could almost find nothing of use. The only thing that could remotely be used as a weapon was the chair and it was too awkward to hold to be of much use. Again, it looked like it was out the window. However, one look out the window into the vast, deceptively calm sea made her stomach churn at the thought. Surely there would be some other way to outwit Hook and win her freedom.

Surely.

As such Wendy's thoughts were drawn more towards Peter as she fervently hoped that he would come to her rescue like he had all those years ago. She wondered what he was doing now. Was he forming an army of the lost boys? Oh but certainly he musn't! Wendy would not be able to live with herself if one of them was injured. Especially Michael. He was her brother, her closest kin in this strange world. She was responsible for him.

She hoped that Peter was at least watching over the boys and her brother until she was returned to them.

Her mind began to wander away from her as it often did when she was bored. She always did have a hard time focusing when she was restless. At first she dreamed of fantastic scenarios where Peter would come dashing in with blazing glory, breaking down the door. She would prettily gasp, of course, and cry his name and go rushing into his arms. In the background, somewhere, would lay Hook, knocked out from Peter's blows.

She could not imagine him dead. He survived his hand being cut off. He survived the jaws of the crocodile. He was eternal as well. The omnipresent villain - simply a man without reprieve from the role.

The girl could not help the fear inside of her, so very much instilled as it was. While most of her fantasies were pleasant, often inspiring her stories, the ones taking shape now were terrible forms - shadows - creeping across the walls like evasive beasts, snarling and foaming at the mouth. She still saw Peter, triumphant, running towards her and telling her that he had come for her to free her at last.

_Come now Dear Mother, I've freed you from the pirates! Rejoice and be merry!_

And her voice choked, screeched, oozed words of warning. No, Peter, no, there is something behind you. The shadow is behind you. Oh please, Peter, why will you not look? It is starting to take shape. It is starting to take the shape of a man.

Hooks eyes were cold, blue, and only on her, even when the hook plunged deep into the boys back.

Wendy woke up with a gasp.

-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was Smee who brought her dinner later on. She was glad that it wasn't the Captain. She was still a bit wary from her dream. It had been too real - a manifestation of that real fear.

The older pirate wished her a good evening and asked, wish a blush that turned his face almost entirely cherry red, what sizes she was and what sort of colors she liked.

"Whatever for?" asked Wendy, honestly confused.

"The Cap'n has ordered me to make some dresses for you, Miss Wendy," said Smee.

Wendy chose to ignore the part of Captain Hook. "I did not know you could sew," she said with honest surprise and a small amount of delight. A man sewing? What strange things these pirates do.

"Aye. 'Tis a necessary skill for a pirate. Without any women on board we have to do our own mending. Most of the men know how to sew."

"Perhaps I could do some mending for you, Mr Smee?" asked Wendy hopefully. When she saw his curious expression she rushed to explain, "It is just that I have been terribly bored. There is not much to do in this room."

Smee rubbed his chin with his hand. "I'll ask the Cap'n if it's permissible, Miss Wendy. I hope he says yes, there's quite a few of my shirts that need darning and I haven't been able to get around to them."

With that Smee took his leave, allowing Wendy to eat her dinner in peace.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed. It had long since been night outside and telling any sort of time was utterly lost on her. She was relieved when she heard a knock at the door, hoping that it was Smee and that he was going to bring her some knitting to do.

Imagine her disappointment when in walked Captain Hook. He was wearing his breeches and his boots, but only a white frill shirt and a little silver lining. It was the most Wendy had seen him out of his usual, sometimes bordering on royal, attire.

"You have requested knitting needles?" he asked without preamble. He reclined in the empty chair and was eyeing the table. After a few moments he rested his booted feet on top of it, allowing a small sigh of pleasure to escape his lips at the languid position.

"Yes," she replied.

"And what are you going to give me in return?" he asked in an almost teasing voice. But no, surely this fearsome pirate would not spend his time teasing little girls.

"I have nothing to give you," said Wendy, unconsciously looking around the room as if she expected to see some possession of hers she overlooked that she could trade.

"There is always something to give," said Hook ambiguously. Wendy stiffened at that, a vague horror a wash over her body as she felt phantom lips on her own again. Certainly he would not demand that of her?

"Tell me a story," said Hook, staring pointedly at the blank wall and placing his hands behind his head, making himself more comfortable.

Wendy breathed in relief. "What sort of story, sir?" she asked.

Hook waved his hand in a dismissive way. "Whatever you wish. You are the storyteller, I am but your humble audience."

For all the life of her Wendy could not think of any story, save one that flitted and buzzed through her head.

"_Once upon a time there was a nightingale who flew softly through the night sky. He was a joyful bird, thinking only of how happy he was to have been given the gift of flight. One day he happened to chance upon a lovely white rose - perhaps the loveliest rose in the world. He immediately swooped down low and sang the sweetest songs it could to the rose, which, on its long stem, trembled and shook from the beauty of the music._

_Night after night the nightingale came to beg for divine love, but though the rose trembled at the sound of his voice, her petals remained closed to him._

_They were a flower and a bird, two species never meant to mate. Yet at length the rose could not contain the love that was beating wildly within her own heart. She overcame her fear and from that single, forbidden union was born the red rose that Allah never intended the world to see._"

Wendy's voice trailed off sadly. She couldn't recall from who she had heard the story. Perhaps her mother had told it to her when she was little, perhaps it was the product of her own fluttering imagination.

So wrapped up in her thoughts was she that Wendy did not notice how Hook was looking at her now. His eyes had darkened at the beginning of the story and took a thoughtful expression near the end. He was looking over her from head to toe, paying special attention to her slightly bowed head and the long hair which fell and obscured her face.

Wendy did look up when she heard the scraping of the chair against the cabin floor. Her head raised quickly, hair flying behind her shoulders, as she nervously saw Hook take long strides toward her. Immediately Wendy stood from her chair, knocking it over in her haste. She backed away in terror at the sight of his eyes, his dark, half-hooded eyes that promised something she could not name.

Her knees caught on the edge of her bed and, losing her balance, she landed on the soft blankets and pillows. She stared up at him now; he was directly in front of her. She could reach out and touch him easily if she so desired. She did not dare.

And then the most astonishing event took place. The legendary Captain Hook, brute and pirate leader of the scallywags aboard the _Jolly Roger_, went down upon his knees before her. Wendy was stunned at the sight of this powerful man in such a supplicant role, especially before such a small whelp of a girl as she. His hand, the good hand, ever so slightly trembling (so minute, perhaps the girl imagined it) rose and delicately touched the top of her knee, just peeking out under her girlish dress. She shivered, though his hand was not cold but rather a burning touch.

"If only I could open your petals, darling Wendy," he said softly, staring with fascination at the point where his flesh touched hers. His gaze was one of disbelief, of Pygmalion beholding the now flesh Galatea for the first time. It was if he could not believe in her presence aboard his very ship - that he was touching a ghost or a dream.

Wendy felt her heart clench and spasm in that moment. The air was stifling. She could hardly breathe. She knew she must say something to dispel the obvious charm he had placed over her. She must do something to allow precious air back into her lungs, to calm the storm in her ribs.

"You have no right, sir," she stated as firmly as she could, though her voice broke and was barely above a whisper. Still, even that pitiful sound was enough to break Hook from his trance. He looked up at her now, anger turning the pinpoints of his eyes a subtle red.

"I have every right when it comes to you," he growled as his hand gently brushed her thigh and moved behind her back. There was a slight pressure as he brought her closer to him, to the point where she could almost memorize the maroon of those irises.

How she longed for safe, watery blue again.

It almost pained her how the man could be on his knees before her, like a man at confession begging forgiveness for his sins, or waiting patiently for the blade to fall on the guillotine, and still inspire in her such terror and wonder. She knew that while she was the one above him it was he who held all the power in this game.

"You are lucky, my beauty, that I have no desire to see you cry," he said softly and suddenly, like he had just that second made up his mind about something. He stood up then so quickly that Wendy was dizzy from the hurried movement. In long strides he reached the door and, while his handle was upon the cool metal, he paused for a second. Deciding.

"You will have sewing needles and books in the morning and a bath if it pleases you."

Without waiting for a response from her, though it was doubtful if she could muster the energy to utter any, he was out the door. It locked audibly behind him.

Confused and startlingly cold (had the man taken all the heat from the room with him when he departed?) Wendy was left shivering on the bed. She did not understand at all what had just happened but knew instinctively that it held some deeper meaning her still child-mind was not grasping.

Her heart still thudded in her mind, like the drums of the Indians on land.

She knew immediately that her only option was the window. She had to try to escape. Hook was a tiger ready to pounce and devour at any moment. Wendy could only do what any sane antelope would - follow the instinct for flight.

It was long moments before she moved and longer still before she was able to sleep.

Her dreams that night brought her no comfort. They were a splash of reds and blues and a low, pulsating beat of drums.


	6. Rash Decisions

A/n: Arg, I have a headache. Sorry this took so long to get out. Real life is such a bloody pain sometimes.

The Verge Of Everything

Chapter 6

Rosy-fingered Dawn awoke Wendy from a sleep she was unsure she wished to leave behind. She was happy in her dreams. They gave her a feeling of weightlessness, of suspended animation that could not be reproduced when waking, even with the help of Peter and his fairy dust. There were still confines when flying in Neverland; one always had to have happy thoughts. In her dreams, where her thoughts from the waking hours were magnified and singular (greater and thus oppressing) she could fly when sad, when angry, when terrified. And so she did. Her arms and body were lifted up with thoughts of escape, of confrontation, and of that vain hope of change.

Was is not Pandora who lifted the box filled with some impossible dream? What did she think would come from its dark caverns? Perhaps she dreamed of wings, like those birds we humans envy so greatly, to soar beyond her overbearing husband and even the gods themselves. And then, when the horrors were released, was she not also given hope, a different sort of wings, to still fly?

She blinked and rubbed the gummy sleep out of her eyes.

Ah yes, she was still in the cabin. She rolled herself out of bed and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed, kicking them back and forth in an inane act of childishness.

She noticed the basin of water and a bar of soap that had been placed in the room. Cautiously she padded over to it and began a semblance of her morning rituals.

Smee came in not too long after, bearing a tray for her breakfast. The kindly pirate also gave her a few volumes of poetry and a work of collected fairy tales.

"The Captain wasn't sure what you'd like, Miss," said Smee with an air of cheerfulness that Wendy wasn't sure she felt. However, feeling the cool leather of the books under her hands gave her a sense of homecoming that made her heart ache.

Her mother had read to her in front of the fireplace on cold winter nights, filling her head and heart with stories that shaped her world and strengthened her already booming imagination.

"And Miss," broke Smee's voice across her reverie. "If you're still interested in darning, I've got some shirts." He placed the knitting needles, some thread and a couple of pairs of shirts on the table. Wendy ran her hands over the shirts to gauge what sort of work needed to be done. The shirts were rough on her hands; low class work-shirts. But one stood out. It was a pale white, soft as silk, and made of fine quality fibers.

"Whose shirt is this?" asked Wendy, though she already knew the answer.

"The Captain's," said Smee pleasantly, not noticing the darkening of her eyes. "He said you should be earning your keep somehow."

"My keep!" exclaimed the girl, a sudden fury making her cheeks red. "He is holding me prisoner! I do not have to earn anything!"

Smee backed away from her rage, trembling even though the girl was at least a foot shorter than him. "Pardon me, Miss," he stuttered while holding his arms up in front of him. "I meant nothing by it. Just seemed since you liked the idea of darning. . ."

"I shall not be doing anything for him!" she interrupted him. "Nothing!"

Just then Captain Hook himself, as if knowing that he was being spoken of, appeared in the doorway. He looked slightly flustered, as if he had had a bad awakening. His hair had been hastily tied back with a leather strap and his shirt and breeches looked rumpled.

"Smee, get on deck now," he ordered in a tone that boded no argument. The older pirate quickly turned and headed to the door. Before he made it, Hook barked out, "And rouse the men, quickly!" And with that Smee was out of the cabin, closing the door hastily behind him.

Wendy, whose anger had not lessened, turned to the Captain and shot him with a quelling glare. "If you think for one moment, sir, that I am going to sew your shirt after the way you have treated me you are in for a large surprise!"

Hook quirked an eyebrow at her, looking as if he could not place the conversation. "Pardon?"

"You heard me!" she said shrilly, causing the Captain to wince under her tones. He put his good hand to his temple and rubbed.

"Miss Darling, if my ship was not currently under siege I would be more than willing to sit down and listen to whatever complaints you have about shirts, myself, and whatever else vexes you currently. Be that as it may I am needed on deck." He gave her a hard look, one that demanded obedience. "You will be a good girl and not cause any disturbances, is that clear?"

Wendy did not appear to hear him, her mind wrapped around the word 'siege'. "Is it Peter?" she asked breathlessly, the words _has he come to rescue me?_ almost following but were choked back down when Hook gave her a black stare.

"Yes, it is your precious Pan," he spat, advancing upon her. Wendy did not back down, no, not this time. She was determined to hold her ground.

"Then you'll be made to pay for your transgressions, you villain!" she said with more relish than was absolutely necessary.

Hook casually stood in front of her and lifted her chin, with his hook, so that her eyes met his intense blue ones. "A villain? Why yes, I do suppose that is what you see me as." He leaned down so that his cheek rested lightly against her own, his breath hot in her ear. "Even villains have their day, Wendy."

"Then I pray, Captain, that today is not your day," she said quietly, her eyes as hard as stones.

Hook merely sighed and let his hook drop from her chin. With a somewhat regal bow he started to take his leave, but when he went to the door he was stopped when Wendy called him back, panic suddenly in her eyes.

"What if the ship sinks?" she asked, eyes wide in terror. The thought of being trapped in the cabin, drowning, did not exactly appeal to her in the slightest.

"This ship has survived countless attacks from Pan. I daresay she can withstand several more. I sincerely doubt that she will fall into Davy Jones' Locker."

"But it might!" she persisted. "You cannot leave me locked in here!"

"Where do you expect me to put you?" he snapped at her, good hand clenched. "On deck so that Pan can whisk you away? Do you really think me so naive?"

Wendy was rather hoping he was that naive and that he would put her in easy reach of Peter. However, anywhere that wasn't locked up would have done at the moment. The thought of such a horrible death was really frightening her, and tears appeared, unshed, in her bright eyes.

"Please, Captain," she said pitifully, clasping her hands before her as if in prayer.

So beseechingly she gazed at him that the Captain felt his beating heart both slow and speed up as his mind went through a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Of course he was angry with her; he always seemed to be angry with her. Even as a child she had both intrigued and incited his fury more than anyone else, barring the flying boy wonder. That same fury had kept him warm on the long nights at sea when he had only her fleeting memory to remind him that there was something beyond the existence of trying to defeat a child (_bad form_, muttered a voice in his head).

But now that she was grown he felt something beyond his anger. There was a strong desire to protect, though he could cast that aside as him being territorial of her. She was Pans originally, but now that he had taken her she was his and he was damned if anyone was going to say differently. That included her protests as well. But still, there was something beyond the desire to protect, to covet, to consume. He wanted to see her happy. Namely, he wanted to see her happy with him.

He took pity on her, his hard eyes softening as he looked at her. "I will make sure no harm comes to you. You have my word." With that, words he hoped would calm her, he approached the door and turned the handle. Before he could entirely leave, however, Wendy whispered something. It was only his fine-tuned hearing that allowed him to hear it.

"Be careful," she said, not quite looking at him.

His heart leapt with joy, though he still locked her in the room.

* * *

Wendy was unsure why she had blatantly said that she worried about him. She didn't want him to think that she had any kind feelings towards him at all. He was a villain; capable of handling himself. What did he need her admonition for?

But she knew why, deep down. There was something intrinsic and motherly in Wendy Darling. When she had been but a scrap of a girl she had played the mother to boys who, chronologically, where probably older than her (maturity was always another equation altogether). How easily she had fit into that role, mimicking her mother and father, giving her supposed children medicine, telling them stories and tucking them in at night.

She did not, of course, feel motherly feeling for Hook whatsoever. He, unlike the lost boys, awoke in her a strange feeling, one that she couldn't quite name. One that, honestly, she was too afraid to develop. Instead she hid it under her fear, her anger, her indignation at being held captive on the _Jolly Roger._

However, the thought of Pan and Hook fighting, as they have always done, tore away at her. She did not want to think of the blood that spilled and stained the wood of the deck, or the grunts and screams of the final breath, or faces contorted in agony and death. Cold, long fingered death who equally envied the living so much he would grasp at the sons and daughters of man, scraping them up all bunny-foo-foo like and knocking them six feet under.

She didn't want either of them to be hurt - especially hurt because of her. She didn't think she could live with that.

Her mind was consumed with these guilty thoughts, rocks and hammers beating away at her small frame, that she almost started to hyperventilate. She ran to the small window in her room and flung it open. She took long, shuddering breaths of the sea air, actually rejoicing at the salt burned her throat. The slight pain allowed her to focus.

_The Window!_

Of course! She heard the sounds of the gunfight going on above her. She thought she may have heard the sounds of Pan's crowing as well, but perhaps it was just her imagination. She did see the oddly calm sea juxtaposed with the sounds of battle above. It was tempting because it was tranquil, and for as long as Wendy could remember she wanted some sort of peace within herself.

Peace, peace, peace. It was a mantra that she repeated over and over as she struggled to climb through the small window. It was peace, drawn out in a whisper upon her lips, that caused her to slip out, dangle her feet below, utter a small prayer to whatever deity that watched this island of magic, and fell.

* * *

The girl made a splash as she hit the water, but the men fighting on deck and the children in the air did not notice. Nor did they notice, so enraptured in the death games of gentlemen, when she fell under and gasped as she tried to kick her legs and arms in an attempt to stay afloat.

They did not notice when she cried out as the slippery hand of a mermaid with a lewd, bloodthirsty smile grabbed onto her leg and pulled her under.

* * *

a/n: My my my, Wendy is in a bit of a pickle. Hope someone eventually notices her absence before she drowns or something equally nasty. 


	7. The Importance of Breathing

The Verge of Everything

Chapter 7

The water was cold.

Odd, how that was the first thought on the girls mind before blinding panic inevitably sank in. It wasn't the fact that a slippery, malicious mermaid was dragging her into the depths which made her panic, nor that she'd never get to see her brothers and her parents or Peter and the lost boys, or even Captain Hook again; rather, it was the damn inconvenience of freezing.

She quite wanted to be warm during her final moments.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind (the part that wasn't thrashing about and screeching) she thought that it must be a very grown-up thought for her to have. In the Neverland such thoughts like that were usually forgotten. They slip away from memory, like dreams when the morning sun washes them away from the backs of the eyes.

Wendy Darling was not a young woman who would have easily given up, especially not on something so pressing and precious as her life. The waters, dark and growing ever fainter, seemed to be everywhere and its omnipresence was lulling her into a sort of black despair and acceptance that even she, who was so fond of living, could only bend humbly to its will.

A hand shot down into the cold depths. Wendy barely felt it touch her outstretched hand (the freezing temperature had made her so insensible) but the feeling of hope that accompanied that slight pressure was enough to force her body to give one last desperate lunge.

The hand grabbed onto her wrist and yanked. The girl felt herself slipping away into the barbarous darkness, and knew no more.

It was Peter Pan, boy wonder, who reached down and pulled her up. He gathered her still petite body into his arms, giving the mermaid who reached up to once again grab the girl a dirty look. He couldn't be mad at the creature, however. It was their nature to covet beautiful things. Whenever they saw something they fancied they would drag it down into the depths with them so that they might lock it away in their pearl halls and worship it daily. More than once a mermaid of stunning beauty had tried to lure the boy himself from the skies, but as he had no unhappy thoughts he simply wouldn't stay under the water.

Now, however, the thought of mortality was petrifying (his first and not his first; he had experienced such things before with Hook who was always just one hairs breath away from slicing the young boy from the sky. However, Peter would always forget such things, as was the mystery of his person. Thus, this mortality was new). He did not know what to do with the limp girl in his arms and was afraid when she did not draw breath.

To his credit he did the first thing that popped into his head. We are lucky, readers, that Peter Pan was not a fairy and thus could carry more than one thought in his head at a time. For, certainly, had he only been able to think of the despair that invaded his entirety at that moment he would have certainly sunk right down to the bottom of the sea and made certain mermaids very, very happy.

As it was, Peter Pan was able to fly up to the pirate ship where the fighting had, more or less, tapered down. A few of the lost boys were making ineffectual and half-hearted attempts at the pirates, but the older, sea-faring men had stopped altogether. Captain Hook bade them lower their weapons when Pan had flown off only minutes before, seemingly at utter random. Hook had not heard Wendy's supplicant wail.

Silence reigned impassively as the boy laid her almost still, prone form onto the wooden planks of the ship. His eyes were wet and wild and positively frightened, almost to the point of blind panic. He turned his head from side to side in some sort of vague disbelief.

"Do _something_!" he wailed, for healing was not his art. He was intelligent enough to know that clapping, while a perfect remedy for a fairy, would not work with a human. That is, if he recalled that rather painful incident with Tinkerbell at all.

Immediately the boy was cast aside by Hook as the older man knelt down before the girls prone form. He called for Smee in a hoarse breath who, familiar with this sort of affliction, went immediately to grab blankets and towels.

Hook placed his hands upon the girls torso and pushed, careful not to damage any of her delicate ribs. Though he feared the worse, for he was a cynical man, he was decidedly, if quietly, pleased when a jet of water rose from the girls lips, followed by a shaky, heavy cough.

It was pure relief, of course. Had the girl died he might never have forgiven himself. Certainly, in his career as a pirate there were many actions he had personally taken part in that were, put delicately, less than moral and mostly unforgivable. He had murdered, cheated, lied, stolen among a plethora of other sins which were each more unscrupulous than the last. All these things he had simply brushed off and forgotten. Not because the Neverland forced him to forget as it did with Pan, but because he himself allowed his brain to fizz out the superfluous moments of his life.

Though had Wendy Darling died while under his care he doubted he would ever forget.

He felt his chest constrict as he gazed at the girl who was still struggling with shaky, though steady, breaths. It would not do to wrap his arms around her in front of that boy and his crew, even though that was the single action he most wanted to perform. He wanted to engulf her in his embrace just to remind himself that she was alive.

That moment, when he saw her unmoving form in the boys grasp, had been ridiculously painful for him in a number of ways.

The first thought that flickered through his mind had been an irrational jealousy. Even while a logical part of his mind whispered that something was terribly wrong a louder part of him, the part that he believed dyed his eyes red, shouted that the girl was so deliriously content in Peter's arms that she didn't have to perform such mundane acts as breathing.

He might be a tyrant, but he was no fool and Hook did not listen arbitrarily to voices that screamed in his head. He recognized a near drowning when he saw one (it was yearly that a man or two of his would fall into the sea) and guilt swept across his spine like willow leaves. He thought a little prayer (which was odd as he full-heartedly believed in no deity other than a half-cocked idea about fate) that if she lived he would let her go, no troubles, just so that she could be happy again.

Captain Hook stood and backed away to allow Smee to wrap the girl in a blanket to try to restore some warmth. He dully registered that the blanket his first mate had grabbed was his own, a red and gold lavish, woven piece from his bed. Amidst the decadence of such interlocking thread the girl looked mighty pale and fragile.

He knew, in that moment, that he couldn't give her up.

Even if it meant he was the most despicable man alive.

"Take her to my cabin," he told Smee, who gathered the girl in his pudgy arms. "And make sure she gets something warm down her throat when she regains consciousness."

"_Wait!"_ screeched Pan. He made an attempt to move towards Smee, seemingly to snatch Wendy away but Hook was faster. He placed himself between them, earning himself a hard glare and the threat of a poised dagger.

"Now, now, Pan. Wouldn't want to get carried away, would we? The girl is sick and needs quiet so that she can rest. Having a duel with me will do nothing for her health," his eyes briefly flicked over the boys agitated frame, mocking the child with his glance. "Nor yours, for that matter."

"Let her go!" Peter commanded in his best father-authority voice.

"And give her into your dubious care? I think not, Pan," Hook sneered.

"You're the one who made her sick in the first place," the boy hissed.

"I assure you," said Hook, "the girl was being properly cared for. I doubt she would have landed herself in the sea had it not been for the commotion that you caused on my deck," he finished smoothly and was pleased to see a flush on the Peter's cheeks.

"I want her back," Pan said stubbornly, and now a few of the lost boys joined in, many of them requesting their mother.

"She does not belong to you, Pan," Hook scoffed.

Peter balled his fists at his side, the one holding his dagger went almost white. "She doesn't belong to you! She's _mine."_

That voice, the green, jealous voice was snickering now, mocking the Captain. He did not know what enraged him more, the laughter that echoed faintly in his ears or the boy for believing that he was capable or even worthy of being in her presence.

"You may have seen her first," allowed Hook quietly, dangerously. His eyes were filtering red into the blue, and for a few seconds his eyes gleamed an otherworldly purple. "But she is mine now. You will do well to keep away from what is mine."

"_No_!" The boy screamed, and would have flown right towards the Captain but his own lost boys were holding him back, presumably the ones who were bright enough to know that going after an armed, calculating man with one's emotions In turmoil inevitably led to disaster. "Let her go! You let her go _right now!"_

"Quiet," Hook hissed, his eyes narrowing in slits. "Miss Darling requires rest if she is to recover. She will have no rest so long as you are on this ship," he said solemnly, though his eyes gleamed. "Do you wish to delay her recovery?"

"No, but. . ."

"-then you will kindly leave the _Jolly Roger_," said Hook firmly. "And not return. I give you my word that the girl will come to no harm so long as you are not on my ship."

Pan was breathing heavily, but he calmed down enough so that the boys on either side of him let him go. He stood straight up in a very adult pose though he was still but a wee thing. "What good is the word of a pirate? You're all liars and cheats, the lot of you," he said, rather petulant.

Hook smirked, for the description was apt. "I give you my word as a man."

"Man!" the word was horrid to Peter, who only believed in boys and girls and was deathly afraid of maturity. "Give me your word as a Captain of this vessel that she will come to no harm, and if you break it that the sea will swallow you and your ship and everyone on it whole!" he cried.

The men who served the _Jolly Roger_ looked a bit restless at this sort of oath, perhaps because what their captain might swear to was a real and very distinct fear of theirs.

"I swear it," said Hook, his lips thin but smirking. "On my honor as a Captain."

"Swear the whole thing!"

Captain Hook's eyes narrowed, but he repeated every word of the oath even though a part of him was sick at the thought of giving in to any demands of the boy, even if it meant he would be rid of his troublesome presence. Not that Captain Hook held any delusions that it would keep the boy off of his ship indefinitely (though he sincerely wished it). The boy would forget the oath, recall the girl, and be back again.

If it bought Hook time, however, it was well worth giving a little to gain a lot more.

Though what Hook was going to do in that time, and what he expected to gain, was not clear even to him.

He pondered such thoughts as he watched with minor triumph as the boy and his ragtag bunch made their way back to the island. The musings followed him, every footstep, as he made his way to his cabin. With every step, however, he recalled more and more of the foolishness that the girl has committed in trying to escape and the fear that she might have died. The fear and anxiety twisted in him to become anger so great that by the time he reached his ornate door he was in a right fury.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. Had this been a real event poor Wendy would have drowned by the time I got to her. Anyway, I'm back to updating. I'm very sorry for the wait. College and holidays and a rediscovered love of video games (hugs FFXII) has kept me from updating more often than I would like.

Before anyone seriously yells at me - I don't know the first thing about drowning or how to save someone from it. I'm sure there's something more complicated beyond putting pressure on ones abdomen, but let's say for simplicity's sake that it worked.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far. The reminding to update it what made me do it.

LeSinner: I _only_ like forbidden pairings. It's very rare that I like the actual love interests in many stories as I usually am intrigued by the villain. I'm glad we think alike.

And to the reviewer who asked if I knew the definition of lewd - well, of course I do! Silly

Please leave a review and tell me what you like and what you didn't like. I'm curious!


	8. The Awakening Dinner

The Verge Of Everything

Chapter 8

When Wendy awoke it was with violence.

She sat up in the bed she had been laid in and threw the heavy, red and gold covers off of her lithe body. It was a belated fight response to her almost-drowning; a desire to live now realized. She took in great gulps of air and was almost sickened by the light sweat that broke out on her body. It reminded her of all that sea water, salty and raw, covering and smothering. How she longed to simply be dry again.

She did not recognize where she was at first and thought, _perhaps, yes, perhaps I have died_. Of course, she had always imagined death to be a rollicking good adventure (or at least, she sincerely hoped it would be) and waking up in a bed as she had done so many other mornings just was not up to her expectations.

"Where am I?" she whispered into the room, mostly to herself, not really expecting anyone to answer her.

She jumped and squealed when she heard the Captains booming voice.

"You are in my quarters, where you ought to be, and where you will certainly not be trying anything as inexplicably stupid as trying to jump out a window, again."

Ah, how undeniably happy she was to hear his voice, even if it was gruff and the underlying anger, like ice, was present. It meant she was not dead! She had not left behind her family, and Peter, and her lost boy-children, or the kindly Smee, her dreams, or even James Hook, in all his moods.

The Captain was leaning casually against a wall, and his stance belied the trembling anger he felt. Wendy could see it too, the twitching of his hand, his hook, and especially from the pinpricks of red in his eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, climbing out of the large, high bed and making her way over to the looming Captain.

"You thought it a decent time for a swim," Hook drawled, his eyes hardening. "You nearly killed yourself."

"I'm sorry," she said automatically, not really meaning it. She seemed to notice that she didn't mean it, because she glared up at the man. "I wasn't trying to kill myself," she stated, tilting her chin up.

"Intentioned or not, you nearly died!" he pushed himself from the wall and took a few steps towards her. She backed up accordingly, but her eyes remained locked on his, her jaw stiffening with resolution.

"If you did not insist on keeping me here like some spoil of war I wouldn't have tried to jump out the window!"

"You are a self-centered and tiresome, spoiled little girl!" he growled, the red becoming even more pronounced within his eyes. "I keep you because I have a right to!"

"What right!" she cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "What right could you possibly have!"

"My right as a pirate," he ground out, attempting to keep his voice under control. He quickly realized this conversation wasn't going anywhere . . . especially not anywhere productive. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. He raised a sharp hand when the girl opened her mouth with another angry retort. "You nearly died," he said softly. So softly, that the ugly retort on Wendy's lips fell silent.

"I . . . who saved me?" Wendy asked. "I felt a mermaid pulling me under the water." She shivered, recalling the slippery touch of the cold fingers.

James Hook pulled his good hand through his hair, wincing as it caught on a snag. "Pan," he ground out with derision. "You have your precious Pan to thank for that." _And so do I._

"Peter? Where is he? Did you hurt him? Is he alright?" She was frightened, and she had every right to be. She knew what this dread man was capable of. He had, after all, made her walk the plank at the tender age of thirteen. That was a memory that caused another cold shiver down the girl's back. She involuntarily took a step back, suddenly afraid to be in such close proximity to the Captain.

He noticed her retreat and his mouth thinned. "Fear not, no harm has come to the boy. I imagine he is off flying about causing mischief. As usual."

Wendy quite perceptively relaxed when she heard of Peter's well-being. If she was to analyze that thought she may have noticed that she was taking the Captain's word at face value, which was somewhat ridiculous considering his beloved profession as a pirate who were, traditionally, not known for their honesty. However, Wendy Darling was not one to analyze her feelings, but simply felt them and recognized them as her own truth.

Hook, long acquainted with the art of reading people, particularly children, relaxed as Wendy did. He decided to push his luck.

"You will dine with me, tonight. I shall have Smee make up for us a most excellent feast, to celebrate your continued tenure among the living," he said smoothly, his voice taking on soft, dulcet tones.

"But what about-"

"We will discuss it at dinner," said Hook with finality.

If Wendy was a girl taken to pouting, she may have stomped her foot and huffed. As it was, she was an obedient girl when it came to any authority figure, and instead she simply nodded politely as the Captain left the room.

Dinner was served in what Smee generously called "The Captain's Dining Quarters", but in reality looked more to Wendy like a storage area that had been hastily cleared. There were still a few tails of dust here and there, though Wendy could tell that someone, probably Smee, had tried their best to clean it.

When Wendy asked if the Captain really did take his meals in the room the poor pirate had a spot of pink appear on his cheeks. He mumbled something half-hearted about the Captain usually dining in his quarters over charts or, if feeling charitable (drunk), with the men.

Wendy smiled in an absent way at that.

"Captain," she began, carefully taking her fork and knife and cutting into her meal with all the delicacies taught to young ladies. "I know I asked you before, but I must know for sure. Did you harm Peter when you fought?"

Hook narrowed his eyes as he wondered if it was possible to have a conversation with the girl without that damn boy being mentioned. He could feel the beginnings of anger in his stomach, boiling and writhing, until a cool thought brushed through his mind. Perhaps, just maybe, he could use the girls' blind adoration of the boy to his advantage.

After all, what better way to mature than to be disillusioned?

He tried to keep his features carefully neutral, but a cruel smile tinged his lips regardless. "My dear Wendy, you care so much for the boys' health. It is commendable, really and truly! If only he had the same consideration for you."

Wendy's fork paused midair. "Pardon?" she asked, too shocked to be mad. "What do you mean by that?"

Hook took a sip of wine, mulling over it for show. "Pan does not show you the same devotion that you so doggedly give to him, now does he?"

"I-he…he," Wendy felt herself going on the defensive, though against what she didn't really quite understand. "How can you say that? He rescued me, didn't he?" she asked, her eyes alight with triumph and righteousness. "He came to fight you for me. I think that shows he cares about me quite nicely." She resumed eating, assuming the argument won.

The Captain steepled his fingers, resting his chin at the tip of his indexes as he was wont to do when having a serious conversation or argument. "True, he did come to fight me, but he didn't necessarily come for you, now did he?"

Even Hook, cold-hearted villain that he is, felt a twinge of regret as Wendy had a flash of pain cross her eyes. _All for a good cause,_ he thought.

"Of course he came for me," said Wendy, anger flushing her cheeks. "Peter will always come for me, he… well," she hesitated then before finishing with finality; "he always will."

"Will he?" said Hook rhetorically. He inwardly leapt for joy when the girl took his bait.

"He might come late, but he does come."

"And hasn't the boy come late for you, Wendy? Certainly you have been on my ship for such a long time. Any number of misfortunes might have befallen you before he arrived," mused Hook.

"No terrible misfortune _has_ befallen me," argued Wendy.

"Ah, no, but I am a pirate, am I not? You are on a ship full of them. And pirates, my dear, are not well-known for their kindness and civility. It stands to reason you could have been seriously harmed by the time the boy came around."

"But I was not harmed. You have been nothing if not polite, sir," she said quickly and honestly, before her mind caught up with her words. She frowned when she realized she had unintentionally given him a compliment and swore to herself that she would not do so again.

"True," said Hook, relishing her kind words. "I am a man of etiquette."

"You most certainly are not!" said Wendy. "Men of etiquette do not kidnap young women!"

Hook, in his scheming mode, did not rise to the bait. "Perhaps I should have been clearer," he said smoothly. "I am a man of pirate etiquette."

Wendy hmmphed at that, and Hook couldn't help but smirk at the childish sight.

"As I was saying," he continued, "you could have been seriously damaged if I was any less decent of a man."

"Perhaps he was gathering his forces," said Wendy lamely. "So that when he came he could launch a… a well-thought out attack."

"What a wonderful imagination you have!" Hook said. He was being honest, but he allowed a smidgen of patronizing to leak into his voice. "I've never seen the boy plan any attack when he could just rush right in, dagger in hand. Have you noticed his skill in strategy?"

"Well," Wendy thought for a long moment and realized she couldn't recall any. "No."

Hook took another sip of his wine, the very picture of casual. "Thus, it stands to reason that the boy merely showed up for one of his annual raids on my ship and just happened to find you here."

Wendy didn't believe that. Of course not. Peter wouldn't have forgotten about her. Never. They were friends, no, even more. She was, well, she was his _mother_, for pity's sake. What child would forget his mother?

But she recalled how it had been so any long years since when she had first seen him and when he returned to her. Had she not sat at her window for years and years, asking, no, begging him to come for her? Had he not told her, before they parted as young children that first time, that he would come back for her for spring cleaning every year?

He said time worked differently in the Neverland, but it was with a sad twisting of her heart that she recalled how her parents had noticed her missing for the exact amount of time she had been gone on her first trip.

"That is not true," said Wendy quietly, but she did not meet his eyes.

It took a great deal on Hook's part not to immediately take back his words and tell her that he was lying, bad form and all, and that Peter hadn't forgotten her at all if it would just wipe that miserable look off her face. But no, he reminded himself, he would stay this course if it would get him what he desired.

Pirates are, by nature, very selfish people.

"Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't," said Hook quietly, knowing that he didn't need to drive his point home any farther. The seed of doubt had been planted and, like any good gardener, he knew if he watered it systematically it would eventually bear fruit.

After dinner Hook brought Wendy back to her quarters. The girl had been somewhat silent throughout the rest of the meal, only responding monosyllabically. Hook didn't mind, he was perfectly capable of carrying on a decent conversation without the help of anyone else. He was also very pleased with what the girl would invariably be pre-occupied with. Once he solved the problem of that damned boy the girl should in turn be more amicable to him which suited him perfectly.

Hook entered the room with her, carefully closing the door behind him. It was dark not, and the moonlight pouring in from the window made Wendy look very pale, like fine china.

So very delicate. He really ought to be more careful with her. She might break at the slightest pressure.

He noticed she tensed when she saw him enter with her, but faced him bravely enough, chin held high. He could almost mistake the quiver in her hands as a reaction to the cold.

"I hoped you enjoyed dinner this evening, Wendy."

She tilted her chin a bit higher. "The food was excellent. Please extend my regards to Mr. Smee."

He stepped a bit closer to her, and chuckled as she inadvertently took a step back. "Do you fear me, still? I give you my word I will not harm you."

"Your word as a pirate?" she asked contemptuously.

"Aye," he answered seriously.

"What relief is that?"

Hook bowed his head. "Know this, Wendy Darling, so long as you are in my care nothing will happen to you that you do not wish so long as I have the power to prevent it. You have my word as the Captain of this ship, and as a man."

Wendy looked at him hard and, when she could see nothing but open and earnest honesty on his face, nodded.

She still looked nervous when he made another step to her, being only an arms reach away now, but she held her place.

"Do not be shy, lass," he said kindly enough, but his voice lowered the way it did when he was about to kiss her or the like. "I said I would do nothing against your wishes."

"I know," said Wendy, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Very slowly, as if afraid of startling her, he gently took her hand in his, asking her with a tilt of his head if this was permissible. She did not make an attempt to take her hand back, and so he felt that permission was granted.

Hook gazed down at that hand, so very small in his own, and so very, very delicate. He could snap the wrist in a mere second with only the slightest bit of pressure it was so fragile.

But hurting her was the farthest thing from his mind.

It always had been.

"I hope," he started in a soft voice, hesitating, then continuing in an even softer voice, "that you will not always fear me, Wendy. I hope that we can, over time perhaps, become amicable with one another at least."

Wendy wanted to respond that they would never be amicable. He had kidnapped her! He tried to kill her friends! Those injustices were more than enough reason for her to never look at him with a kind eye. But Wendy was a sweet girl, and Hook had, she thought charitably, not been as terrible to her as he could have been.

"I will try, Captain," she said with equal quietness.

Hook's heart was beating so hard at those three simple words he thought it would burst from his chest. How simple and yet how promising!

"That is all that I ask," he said, before bending his head low and bestowing a chaste, if long, kiss to her hand. He looked down into her eyes for a long moment, so impassioned that Wendy thought his next kiss would be on each eyelid, then down a track of tears across her cheeks, to her lips and then… and then…

"Goodnight, Wendy," said the Captain, releasing her hand and, with one more swift glance to her pale form, exiting the room. There was a soft click as he locked the door.

It was quite some time before Wendy moved from that spot. She stared at her hand which, even though those lips had long since gone, felt as if they were still pressing hot fire onto her flesh.

She moved the burning skin to her lips and kissed it, if only to cool it down.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. Holy crap. I updated. I'm a little shocked myself. The reviews are what made me do it, so if you like this story and desire to get me off my lazy bum and write more, you know what to do.

The reference to "spring cleaning" is from the original novel. Peter promised Wendy he would come pick her up every year for a week to spend in Neverland, but he often forgot to do so.


	9. Stages of Friendship

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but I'm relatively sure this is almost public property anyhow. But in case it is not, I still don't own it.

The Verge of Everything

Chapter 9

It rained the next morning, well into the afternoon. Wendy Darling was not sure why she thought this, but she imagined that Hook was taking a particular delight in the weather. Though he was not distracted, per se, he would often look to the window of her small cabin and a smirk would appear on his face as he watched the harsh pattering of rain on the glass.

"I do love that sound," he told her at length when she asked him. "It sounds like tears, doesn't it? The tears of a little lost boy."

Wendy, finding the comment obscenely morbid, said nothing more on the matter.

However, she did take to watching Hook with an eye that was not merely weary, but curious as well. When she watched him more closely she began to notice little things about him. Though she was no slouch, she was almost envious of his perfect posture. The man managed to stand tall and firm, brushing against rigidity but still managing to look at ease. Relaxed and on edge at all times. She also saw him, in extremely rare moments of carelessness, attempt to scratch his beard with his hook. In the three times she witnessed this phenomenon he had always caught himself before he injured himself, but he would turn a furious eye on the contraption, as if it was the metal's fault for having almost injured him.

Wendy considered asking him why he bothered wearing a hook at all, but a wise voice inside her told her to keep quiet about it.

Captain Hook made dinner between the two of them a ritual. His men must have been on land almost daily to procure the amounts of fresh fruit, vegetables and meat that poor Mr. Smee had to find new and exciting ways of serving each night. Wendy, always polite, made a point to gush about his cooking whenever he was in eyesight. It clearly pleased the old man to hear it, if his pink cheeks and stammered thank you kindly's were any indication.

However appetizing the food, Wendy did not always care for dinner. No matter how pleasant Hook was on the surface, deep down she knew the man was dangerous, and she knew that at any moment he could turn on her in the most disastrous and diabolical of ways. Still, he had not yet, and more and more the girl felt herself softening to him, but only a little until she remembered herself.

"Are you enjoying the papaya?" asked Hook at one particularly memorable dinner. He was eating a slice of the pink fruit off of his hook and raising an amused eyebrow at Wendy's pursing of lips.

"It isn't," she paused, her mind working to find the most polite way of saying no. "Well," she continued, "it isn't the most appetizing thing I've eaten. Though it isn't bad."

"It must be an acquired taste," he said.

Hook was dressed casually today, for him. He wore black breeches and his shiny black boots, but they were a relatively simple pair, with only a few shining silver buckles adorning him. He still wore a large leather belt and sash around his waist, but he had forgone the coat and only wore a white, long sleeved shirt. His lavish hat was also absent, and his long hair was tied back in a leather thong.

Wendy thought it made him look even more sinister. Her father had once told her that it was the unassuming, handsome fellows who had a demon in them, disguised. Admittedly, this was told to an older Wendy when her father and herself had been enjoying an afternoon stroll in the park, and a rather charming looking fellow had made eyes at her for well over a half an house. Still, if this was true, Hook had the most powerful demon of all rolling around inside him at this moment.

"You are not very talkative today, my dear," he said, making a tsking noise. "Are you feeling ill? Perhaps it is too drafty in here. I can close the window if you want."

The truth was Wendy was not a talkative girl around Hook ever, and it usually fell to him to start the conversation between them. Not that he had a problem with this. There seemed to be no end to his conversational skills.

"I am feeling fine, thank you," she responded, putting the papaya down with a certain degree of relief. "I just cannot think of anything worthwhile to say."

"Such a shame," said Hook. "I do so love the sound of your voice."

Wendy gave him a harsh, quick look. "Are you mocking me?" she asked, feeling emboldened by the stirrings of anger.

"Not at all," said Hook. "I mean it. It is part of your charm, and your success as a storyteller. The sweet sound of your voice encourages everyone who hears it to listen. Perhaps," he said as his blue eyes became half lidded and he leaned back in his chair, "you will tell me a story of your first visit to Neverland."

Wendy felt wary, but mischievousness was a charming little demon that danced in her stomach. "I can tell you of a very exciting adventure."

"Oh?"

"Yes, of a girl and a ragtag group of boys who defeated pirates twice, no, three times their age!"

Hook scowled and glared. Unconsciously he brought his hook to his good hand and caressed it.

Wendy immediately regretted having said such a thing. She sharply reminded herself that the man across from her was a dangerous pirate who had killed more men than she had probably met.

Still, he did look very sad at that.

"I did not mean it like that," she said quietly. "I do not want to remind you of ill times."

"Not so ill," said Hook, his own voice adopting her softness. "After all, it was when I first met your acquaintance. You were just a young sprite, then. Running about, all legs and skirt like a little savage. Still, you were charming then. It's a shame Pan saw fit to put you in danger as he did."

Wendy's head rose sharply at that. "Pardon?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to," said Hook, his voice smooth and creamy. "After all, he is but a child with a child's mind. It takes a grown man or woman to recognize danger when a child only sees adventure."

"The greatest danger we came across was you," she said stiffly, gripping her fork in a tight fist.

"Why, thank you," said Hook with sincerity as the girl frowned at him. "But myself and my men aside, Neverland is a dangerous place even if we had never sailed to this blasted island. I can honestly say the fauna has a nasty appetite." He gave a pointed glare to his Hook.

"Peter said it was the crocodile who ate it. The large, ticking one."

"Yes, it had the misfortune of swallowing a clock, the beast. But it was not the crocodile who cut off my hand, it was merely the recipient of a free feast."

"Then who…?"

"Why, your beloved Pan. Didn't you know?"

Wendy's face went white, and she shook her head.

"Oh, yes. In one of our earliest confrontations. The little sneak distracted me by saying my ship was sinking, and did he have the nerve to simply stab me and be done with it? No, he slices off my hand with as much remorse the crocodile must have felt eating it." Hooks eyes tinged with red, recalling the look in that boy's eyes, recalling the hate that swam beneath the surface of him, always ready to spring out at a moment's notice.

Wendy covered her mouth, looking with immense pity upon the pirate captain. "But Peter is not cruel, no, he simply does not know any better." But she spoke with uncertainty, for Peter could be quite bloodthirsty and adamant when he wanted to be.

"A child is the cruelest of all. Selfish and impudent, a child only seeks to pleasure himself."

He considered telling her about how Pan had told the bleeding Hook that the pirate was a "fair opponent" and that Pan would love to "fight him again" so long as Hook "improved some." And while Hook would relish the complete tarnishing of Wendy's affection for the boy, he could not do it. He could not destroy, entirely, any part of her.

"It is not his fault," Wendy said quietly. "He will always be a boy. He will always be that way. It is just how it is."

Hook was darkly silent at that.

"Captain," said Wendy, looking at him with a shred of kindness. "Does your hand still give you pain?"

He felt his heart rejoice.

Later, when an eventual pleasant dinner was over and Hook was just finishing escorting Wendy to her cabin, he made a quick perusal of her room.

"Is there anything you are wanting, my dear?" he asked. "I cannot see that this room gives way for any pleasing distractions."

Indeed it did not, and sometimes in the early hours Hook was busy with his men and she was left to her own devices. "Perhaps some paper to write on," she requested. "In case I think of a new story."

He sat down on her bed, giving a small noise of pleasure at being off his feet. "I will, on the condition that you share it with me."

Wendy had a small smile at that, and she said she would.

"Perhaps you will even write about a dashing pirate captain," he said, teasingly.

"I don't know," she said, her voice light. "I don't know any of which to base him off of."

Hook smirked at that. "Really, a whole ship of pirate at your disposal and not a one seems dashing to you? I fear my men and I have severely let you down, Miss Darling. But I fear I disagree. There is a man on this ship who is quite dashing, with exquisite taste, and a fine vocabulary."

Wendy put her index finger to her chin and pretended to think about it. "Hmm," she said. "A man like that you say? Oh! I know! You must be talking about Mr. Smee."

Hook frowned. "I most certainly was not."

"I think you were," she countered. "I think he would make a fine captain for my story. Thank you for the idea!"

"Silly chit," he murmured, his eyes obtaining that heated look that was never far away. He beckoned her over with his good hand.

It was almost as if she did not know herself, had forgotten who he was entirely, but in that moment Wendy simply went to him without thinking, her arm outstretched to take his own.

And then she stopped. She saw his hook and she stopped in remembering just exactly who this man was, and how he frightened her and was keeping her prisoner.

Hook, noticing her instant change in demeaner, looked down at his hand and hook, as if looking at the girl was too painful at that moment. "I suppose you will always see me as a monster," he lamented.

Wendy felt her heart constrict.

In an act of foolhardy bravery, Wendy sat down beside the Pirate Captain. He watched her with a cross between a smoldering, wary look. Like a wolf watching its prey, full of pinpointed desire and yet fully aware of its surroundings, its environment.

"I think…" she swallowed and started again. "That is, if we are to spend so much time together, I suppose we ought to be civil."

Hook began leaning towards the girl, a painful and naked hope spreading across his face.

Wendy did not fully understand, and when he raised his hand to cup her cheek, she caught it between her own and held it firmly.

"We… we should be friends, don't you agree?" she said, looking up at him with large eyes.

Hook did not know whether this disappointed him or was a breakthrough. He was quiet for a few, long moments, and did not answer until Wendy was visibly squirming under his gaze.

"Friends," he eventually repeated. He mulled the word around in his mind for a few more moments, and then the ideas began to rush across the expanse of his imagination like wildfire. "Yes," he said. "We shall be friends."

He stood up and pulled Wendy up with him. She parted her lips as if to say something more, but was lost in his blue, ever so blue, eyes.

Hook leaned his head down, and his voice was low, sultry, and decidedly un-friend-like. "May I have the honor of a kiss goodnight from my newest friend?"

"Pardon?" she asked in a strained voice. "I don't kiss my friends goodnight."

"Truly?" he asked. "I find that strange. I give mine kisses before they retire for the night."

Wendy spoke without thinking. "You give Mr. Smee kisses?" she asked.

Hook was quiet for a few moments, and when he spoke again Wendy could not tell if he was trying not to shout or laugh. "Oh, yes. Many, many kisses." He cleared his throat. "Now, my dear, as a friend? Else I fear I shall have bad dreams tonight."

She bit her bottom lip and looked around for anything that might give her advice as to what to do. The room, sparsely furnished, was not forthcoming. When she looked back at Hook he was staring at her so intensely, that she felt herself agreeing in order to get him to stop looking at her in that way.

"Alright, alright, just one."

Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and gave him a very quick, and most friendly, kiss on the cheek.

"Now that," said Hook, "simply will not do."

Slowly, almost with an air of uncertainty, but certainly one of care, he wrapped his good arm around the waist of the now trembling girl and drew her close to him. He shushed her when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and cooed sweet words in her ear.

"Do not tremble so. I will not hurt you, I promise." His head leaned to the right, and he stared at her bottom lip as she worried it between her teeth. "Don't be doing that, you'll chew your lip right off," he admonished, his voice low and husky.

"Please, Captain," she whispered, though would not articulate what she wanted any more than that.

His dark, masculine chuckle met her ears. "My darling, it will be a shame to have so many little teeth marks marring your pretty smile come morning."

When the lip fell from her teeth he leaned in, his hand moving to her hair, and captured both the top and bottom with his own. She gave a small squeak of surprise, and felt him smile.

For Wendy, too much was happening at once. She was overpowered by the smell of his shirt, freshly washed, the smell of his skin like the spice of the sea. She was overpowered by the force of his hand, gentle and firm and so very present, insistent in her hair, his fingers moving between the strands. She tasted him, salty and sweet and something else, a twinge of dark chocolate, on his lips.

He kissed her like a drowning man kisses the air, like the starving man devours his food, like the traveler in the desert quenches his thirst in the oasis as the sun beats down on him. Desperation and possession were mixed in the subtle movements of his lips.

He let her go when she let out a soft moan, almost inaudible but for his proximity.

"My dear, dear friend," he said as he straightened up, putting as much feeling in the word friend as one would the sweet names which they attribute to their lovers. "I bid you a goodnight. Pleasant dreams."

There was a decided bounce to his step as he took his leave of her.

Wendy sat hard on the bed, staring at the door like she could not fathom what had just occurred. And while she knew she should be furious with him for stealing yet another kiss from her, a perverse image of Hook kissing Smee in the manner in which she had just been kissed passed her mind, and she collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles.

* * *

- Elsewhere, The Morning of the Failed Rescue Attempt –

For the first time in their admittedly short acquaintance, Michael was wary of Peter. The flying wonder-boy was in the blackest mood that Michael had ever witnessed. The boy would not see anyone, and all requests to play or plot or scheme or even eat were met with a growl and a petulant shout to be left alone.

And though Michael was scared, for he had once regarded Peter as his father and was deadly scared of his real father when he was in a rare mood, he approached the green-clad boy as gently as he could.

It was raining outside, and thunder and lightning quickly followed. The noise did nothing for Michael's nerves.

"Peter," he asked in his most timid voice. "What about Wendy?"

The response was instantaneous. Peter was up and in the air, his frail, young body rigid and wiry. "I tried! I fought with Hook! I rescued her! But that pirate tricked me! He's a dirty dog, a mongrel! Not worthy of the title of Captain!"

Michael wholeheartedly agreed, but kept to the issue at hand. "Yes, but what about my sister?"

Peter looked darkly at the boy. "What about her? You heard what Hook said. If we go back there she'll die."

"She might die if we leave her there! He might make her walk the plank again, or gut her like a fish on that hook of his!"

Peter let out a wild yell, his frustration and pain evident in the water screech. "I NEVER SHOULD HAVE TRUSTED HIM!"

"We have to go back and get her!" said Michael, excited at the prospect of rescuing his sister and getting to fight the pirates again. It was like Christmas had come twice this year.

"We can't," said Peter. "I made a promise that I wouldn't. I've got honor," he said defensively. "I keep my promises."

"But it was to Hook!"

"Even to a pirate."

Michael was aghast. "That's my sister we're talking about! That's Wendy! We can't just leave her there."

And while Peter may have agreed with this statement, he was not pleased with the tone that Michael was taking with him. "Hey," he said. "I'm the boss. I'm Father. I say what we do, and if I made a promise that I would not go back there, then we will not be going back."

"But Peter!"

"No! I said so and my word is final!"

Peter flew off then, in a rush of sparkling fury. Tinkerbell, just a ball of light, quickly followed after him, her sibilant squeak just barely audible.

Michael did not know what to do. Now both his parents were gone, and his real parents were far, far away and could not help him. He felt very lost, and very afraid.

And suddenly it wasn't very fun anymore.

A few day later, when the clouds had passed and the sky cleared up, Peter returned, along with his good spirits.

Michael had to remind him who Wendy was, and why she needed rescuing.

* * *

A/N: … so I'm the worst updater ever. I would like to be able to give the excuse that I am writing my thesis which is a novel, but ultimately I am ridiculously lazy. I'm very sorry for the wait, but I guess it's just something we're all used to at this point.

As for the story, I don't want to show Peter in an utterly negative light, but there is something almost dirty and unnatural about him because he resists change. Peter is stagnant and without potential for me, and I have a hard time being generous to him because of that. However, for what I have vaguely planned for myself, I do hope to give him a more unbiased characterization as the story progresses.

I hope everyone likes how Wendy and Hook are turning out. When re-reading the last few chapters, I realized they were constantly hot and heavy (either in anger or lust) and thought that the natural progression (unless I wanted them to be rather ridiculous) would be to give them some teasing, some humor. I hope this is satisfactory to you, the reader. If not, please let me know, and I will rectify it in future chapters.

Thank you so much for staying with this story, and please leave a review. You're all very kind.


	10. Interlude Before the Storm

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The Verge Of Everything

Chapter 10

Wendy was surprised to learn that Captain Hook was offering to take her out for a stroll on land. She had thought she was not allowed off the ship, but Mr. Smee (who had come that morning, bearing a bath and a new dress and loads of papers and ink with which to write) told her that the Captain wished it, and of course whatever the Captain wanted the Captain received.

She supposed it was a bit childishly selfish of the Captain to be like that, having each and every one of his whims be met. But then again, she felt a little guilty as her complaints vanished as she soaked in the warm scented bathwater, or when she slipped into the light, silk dress he'd provided. Also, her only other good friend was Peter, the epitome of childishness, so who was she to judge?

Hook appeared at her door with flowers, a whole array of exotic blooms. She was particularly surprised by what must have been a blue lily, except that such things did not exist. She said as much, absentmindedly.

"How do you know they do not exist?" he asked her in all seriousness.

Wendy was slightly taken aback. "I would have known about them if they did," she said.

He arched a brow. "You know about it now."

She shook her head, fingering a particularly vivid indigo petal. "I do not know if I can trust what I see in this place. Neverland, I mean. It's magic, surely. And, while I love magic," she paused, staring at the vibrant blue in a somber, distracted way. "It is not honest," she finished, frowning.

"I think," said Hook after a time, "that you have grown from that young sprite of a girl who first came aboard my ship."

Wendy inclined her head and looked to the floor, embarrassed for being pleased with the comment.

* * *

An hour later Hook was ready to retract his thoughts about Wendy's maturity. As soon as they had arrived on the island her liveliness leapt and danced freely. He had to hold back a smile as she still attempted to maintain her Victorian reticence. She flitted to things that held her interest as a storyteller, such as fairies dancing in the air, or the whooping cries of the Indians not too far away. Then, as if recalling who she was or who she was with, she would slow her pace, or wipe dirt from her long skirts.

She practically ran, as daintily as she could, to a small patch of flowers. Blue lily's.

"I thought you said they weren't real," Hook purred in her ear, causing Wendy to stiffen and straighten. Then she relaxed, and gave him a small smile.

"Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Maybe what is real does not matter, so much as it is enjoyed?" To prove her point, she plucked a blue bloom from the patch and brought it to her nose.

"Indeed," said Hook, watching the girl as she laughed and spread her arms wide, gathering all sorts of flowers and leaves around her. She carelessly threw them to the ground, or placed especially well crafted ones into her hair.

"You're killing them," Hook noted. The girl faltered and looked at him in a oddly miserable, happy sort of way.

"Yes," said Wendy. "I suppose so. But it makes them more lovely in this moment, doesn't it?"

She looked so beautiful, then. Like a fae child, something magical even in this sparkling land. He wanted to snatch her up and bind her to the lowest cabin of his ship. Even if she withered and wasted away, she would be his, and wasn't that better than not having her at all?

But he too also wished that he could set her loose, for what a magnificent creature she was, and what a shame that she would ever lose any of her vitality or her imagination. These thoughts conflicted, and he wondered if it would be better to tear out his heart, or her heart, than to have to choose. Instead, he called her over to him, and though her face fell, she obediently came to stand before him.

"Are we going back?" she asked. "The stars are going to come out soon," she said, wistful.

"We'll dally a little longer," he said, though he greatly desired to see her aboard his ship. Instead, he motioned to a fallen log, and they took a seat next to one another, looking up at the stars. Wendy hesitantly began to make up stories of the constellations. She grew more confident when Hook dutifully made appreciative comments at the right places, until the hour grew late, and her head rested against the fine velvet of his coat.

Without thinking, Hook placed his arm around the girl. The cold steel of his hook jerked her momentarily, but before he could retract his arm, she snuggled back into him, and asked him to tell her a story of high seas adventures until the stars shined no more that night.

* * *

Once Michael had convinced Peter that a Wendy was a thing that needed rescuing, the flying boy had called up his miniature militia of lost boys and painted his face like the fierce warriors of Tiger Lily's tribe. And while Michael was pleased that they were making progress towards rescuing his sister, he was discomfited at the thought that Peter was more inclined to fight Hook than to rescue Wendy.

He sat near the fire and used a rock to sharpen the end of a sturdy, straight branch he'd found in the woods earlier. He tried to push away the thought that this sort of thing used to be fun. Even years ago, when they'd boarded the pirate ship, it had been dangerous, the kind of stuff that made his heart beat like a soldier's march. But now, as he pricked his finger on the point, he recalled a brief moment a year ago when his father had taken him to the tailor to get a new suit for Sundays, and there had been an old, toothless man selling fresh rabbits across the street. And a fine proper lady with a silk scarf over her blond hair had asked for one, and the man grabbed the little trembling thing by its throat and raised a rusted cleaver, and how the thing had screamed. Michael hadn't been able to watch the actual slaughtering, but he remember the scream, and how the woman had a stain on her bodice after, from where the blood had spurt.

Even now, that memory sickened him, and he thought it odd that he would think of it now that he was about to do a good thing. Wasn't Hook the butcher, and Michael and Peter and the others the rescuers who would swoop in and rescue his fragile sister, who honestly wasn't very good at war games. She was only a storyteller, a mother.

"We leave at dawn," Peter said, smudging war paint on Tinkerbell's cheek with his pinky.

Michael's stomach twisted.

* * *

Author's Note:

So, I realize it's been awhile. Actually, I was going through some old files and found this on my old laptop. I haven't written anything new on this story in quite awhile, but I figured I should share this since it is all written and such. I should probably finish this story. One day I imagine I will, since I have it still planned in my head, but when will this be? Perhaps years from now. Perhaps tomorrow. People are driven by terrible whims, you know.

Thanks so much for those who have supported this story and are still(?) reading, thank you.


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